Eric Cartman Must Die
by Caz Dowse
Summary: Professor Chaos is back, and he wants the ultimate revenge on Cartman...Final Chapter up!
1. Chapter 1

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, or any of its characters. Damn.**

**Chapter 1: Chaos Rising…**

Leopold "Butters" Stotch was a mess. And not just physically, either. Everything he touched turned to dust, or at least smashed into little pieces. He was just naturally clumsy, he couldn't help it. A clod, his father called him.

Well, maybe there was just no place in the world for clods like him.

He gazed into the bathroom mirror, hating what he saw. The stupid blond haircut, the puppydog blue eyes, the round, earnest face that was bruised and swollen.

OK, so he hated himself. But there was one person he hated even more.

Eric Theodore Cartman.

South Park's own Public Enemy No.1, alongside .

He remembered Cartman's face close to his, his hot breath, the redness of his cheeks.

"You're a fucking waste of space, Butters. What are you?"

"I'm a fucking waste of space, sir."

Then the punching had started. All he'd done was drop a lamp, a lamp that he'd biked all the way to Middle Park to collect because Cartman couldn't be bothered to get off his fat arse to go himself. How was he supposed to have known about the sheet of ice in the middle of the Cartmans' drive? He glared at the cuts on his hands which he'd sustained when Cartman had ordered him to pick up the broken glass and shit. Stupid fucking lamp.

How he longed to be like Cartman, and make everyone he met quaver in their boots. How he longed for the day when he could order someone to pick up glass and shit for _him_. How he longed to be strong.

"You can be."

Butters jumped, startled by the strange, deep voice, and looked around the small magnolia bathroom. Nobody there but him.

"'Kay, little weird," he mumbled nervously.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

Butters jumped again.

"Now this isn't funny," he said loudly. "Eric Cartman, if that's you, you stop that right now. Please."

"It's not Eric Cartman. It's someone much, much closer than that." The voice was almost taunting. "Look at me, Leopold."

Butters winced, as he always did when someone called him by his real name. Even his parents called him Butters. In his view, the name Butters wasn't particularly flattering, but it was ten times better than Leopold.

He turned and looked around the room again, looking for the source of the voice. There was definitely no-one but him. Eventually The Voice sighed in frustration.

"The mirror. Look in the _mirror_."

Butters turned back to the mirror and gasped.

His reflection was the same – yet different. The bruises and swelling remained, but there was something dark and sinister about his face: his eyes were hooded, his lips thin and pinched. He looked…evil.

"Pr-Professor Chaos!?"

"Yes, it is I. Did you miss me?" Butters said, or rather, his mouth did.

"No, I er, don't, um…"

Feeling dizzy, Butters sat down on the toilet. Professor Chaos was a supervillain he'd created when he was 8, someone he could become when he felt rejected and angry, when being Butters became too crappy. But he wasn't 8 anymore, he was nearly 15, for fucks sake. So what the hell was going on? Was he insane? Had he taken one too many blows to the head earlier? Whatever, he needed to get out of here.

"I need to lie down," he muttered, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Sit. We have much to discuss."

Butters sat down again, and cursed himself for being so weak.

"So, um, what do you want to talk about?" he asked, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. He was talking to himself, after all.

"Remember those glorious days when you first created me?" Chaos asked. "We used to dream about destroying this pitiful planet, and everyone on it. No-one would stand in our way. Whatever happened to that dream, Leopold?"

"I guess I just grew out of it," Butters replied, after a moment's thought.

"No matter. The world can wait. We've got a bigger problem to solve," Chaos said cryptically.

"What, like global warming?"

"No. Something even bigger than that." Butters could feel his eyes narrowing. "Eric Cartman."

"WHAT!"

"Don't you see? This is why I'm here, Leopold. You know as well as I that Eric Cartman must be _eradicated_."

"Eradi-what?"

Chaos sighed impatiently. "Purged, deleted, removed, _eradicated_. You get it?"

Butters frowned. "I think so."

"Butters honey?" Butters jumped as his mother tapped on the door. "You've been in the bathroom an awful long time. What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing, mom!"

There was a short pause, then: "Listen, honey, I know about those magazines your friend Kenny lent you and that's fine, I know teenage boys get certain _urges – "_

"I'm just…thinking, mom!" Butters shouted, horrified at the direction the conversation had taken.

"Well, OK then," his mother called back. "Just remember not to _think_ too much, or you'll go blind." Butters heard her padding away, then: "Dinner in five!"

he stood up, blushing furiously. For some reason, he was embarrassed that Professor Chaos should have heard any of that.

"I guess I'd better go, then," he mumbled, purposely avoiding looking at the mirror.

"Yes. Go and eat," Chaos said. "Then go straight up to your room. We have a lot of planning to do. It's time to commence Operation ECMeD."

"ECMeD?"

"Eric Cartman Must Die."


	2. Chapter 2

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**I don't own South Park, or any of its characters. I wish I owned Butters…**

**Thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter, I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it! Anyway, on to chapter 2…**

**Chapter 2 – Plan A**

The next day, Butters awoke early and headed down to the basement. He emerged a little while later with a small plastic box and a large brown bottle, which he slipped into his backpack. He was sitting on the sofa, eating toast and watching CNN, when his parents came downstairs.

"My, someone's up early," his father, Martin, remarked as he went into the kitchen.

"I think _someone's_ getting excited about Christmas," his mother, Linda said in the same singsong voice she had been using ever since Butters was 3, and would probably still be using when he was 30.

Butters smiled weakly at her. If only she knew what he was about to do. His stomach was in knots already. This was, as Professor Chaos had put it last night, a Big Day.

When the time came to catch the bus to school, Butters kissed Linda, shouted goodbye to Martin, and headed up the road to the bus-stop, walking like someone being led to the gallows. He half-hoped he might miss the bus, but no – there it was waiting for him. A couple of kids were getting on as he arrived at the stop. He sighed miserably and trudged towards the bus.

"Come on, asshole, I haven't got all day," the driver, Mrs Crabtree shouted shrilly at him as he got on. Mrs Crabtree was a mean old woman with a gnarled face and messy, greasy hair that her pet bird used as a makeshift nest. All the kids and teachers at South Park High hated her.

"Oh, shut up, you stupid bitch," Butters muttered under his breath.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

"I said: 'Oh, Mrs Schuster's a stupid witch.'"

"Hhm." Mrs Crabtree seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yes she is."

The bus started moving so Butters walked down the aisle, looking for an empty seat. There was only one left, next to…Eric Cartman. Butters groaned inwardly and sat down. Cartman glared at him. Cartman was a tall, obese boy with light brown hair and dark, menacing eyes. He took up most of the seat, so Butters had to squeeze onto the edge. Butters looked around, and saw Cartman's friends, Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski, sitting just across the aisle, deep in conversation. Stan, the captain of the South Park Cows football team, was tall and muscular, devastatingly good looking, with long black hair. Kyle was smaller, thinner, with short red curls that made him look like he had a small red afro. Kyle was easily the most intelligent student in their grade. Just in front of Kyle and Stan was their other friend, Kenny McCormick. Kenny was rail thin, with messy blond hair. He was lying stretched out on the seat, snoring gently.

Butters pulled his backpack onto his knee and hugged it. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, trying to ease the queasiness that had been building since he'd boarded the bus.

"What's the matter with you?" Cartman asked suddenly, startling him. "You gonna hurl or something?"

"I dunno," Butters admitted truthfully.

"I'm warning you, Butters," Cartman said threatingly. "You hurl on me and I'll throw you out the fucking window."

Butters groaned and sank deeper into his seat.

*

The morning passed quickly, too quickly for Butters' liking. He spent most of his lessons sitting silently, staring intently at the clock, while around him his classmates laughed and screwed around. But it was here. 12.00. Lunchtime. Showtime.

"Okay children, today we've got turkey, mashed potatoes, peas and gravy," South Park High's cafeteria chef, erm, Chef said cheerily as he dished out food onto plates. He was wearing a Santa hat today, instead of the usual chef's one. Just behind Butters in the lunch queue were Cartman, Kyle and Stan. Kenny, being from one of the poorest families in South Park, couldn't afford school dinner, so had been sent to save a table.

"Enjoy, children," Chef said as he loaded Butters' plate with food.

Butters smiled at him and walked through the cafeteria, sitting down at an empty table that was just across from Kenny's. He picked at his lunch impatiently. Craig and Tweek sat down with him, but he ignored them. Eventually Cartman, Stan and Kyle arrived at their table, Cartman trying to carry 3 very full plates as carefully as possible.

"You do not need three lunches, fatass," Kyle was saying as they sat down.

"Yeah, I thought you were supposed to be on a diet," Stan said.

"I had one slice of melon for breakfast this morning," Cartman said bitterly. "One measly fucking slice."

Cartman had been overweight all his life, mainly because of a fondness for Cheesy Poofs and Smacky Smores. When he reached his teens, however, his eating habits got worse and his weight spiralled, and even his devoted mum, Liane Cartman, had to admit that maybe, just _maybe_, her son had a weight problem rather than just being big boned. She was finally forced into action when Cartman won the dubious title of "Colorado's Fattest Teenager" and put him on a strict diet, depriving him of all his favourite foods. It was working though – by the end of his first week Cartman had lost nearly 3lbs, by the end of the first month it was nearly 9. To his friends, watching Cartman lose weight was like watching air slowly being let out of a tyre.

"Yeah, well, maybe you wouldn't need a diet if you weren't the size of a small oil tanker," Kyle remarked, winking at Kenny.

"Yeah," Kenny said, taking up the baton. "Your ass is the size of a small country."

"Ai!" Cartman shouted.

Kyle and Kenny laughed. Cartman was so cranky these days; it was almost too easy to wind him up.

Butters watched the group and remembered how he had been a part of their gang, once. Then they'd rejected him, and Professor Chaos had been born out of that rejection. He grimaced. It was time.

He went under the table and pulled the plastic box out of his backpack. Carefully he released the contents – a mouse he'd christened Betty – onto the floor and then sat up again. He waited. About 5 minutes later, there was a scream from Bebe Stephen's table.

"Oh my god, it's a mouse! Ewww, get it away from me!"

Bebe was crouched on her chair, holding onto her friend Wendy Testaburger for support. Butters watched as all the boys from his grade – including Cartman and his gang – rushed to Bebe's aid. Whatever Bebe wanted, she usually got, especially when it came to boys.

Butters slipped the brown bottle out of his bag, and, unnoticed by everyone else, went to Cartman's table. He took the lid off and was nearly knocked out by the smell. _Weedkiller_. He dribbled some carefully onto one of Cartman's plates, then glugged some on for luck. He put the bottle back into his bag and then joined the crowd around Bebe's table, so as not to arouse suspicion. Eventually the crowd dispersed, and Bebe was finally persuaded to sit down again. Betty the mouse had scarpered. Butters returned to his seat, along with Cartman and the others. Kyle was still going on about Cartman's 3 lunches.

"Remember what your mom said, Cartman," he warned. "She said if you break your diet, you won't get that car you've been banging on about since April."

"All right!" Cartman shouted, his patience snapping at last. "Here you go, pov, you have one."

He shoved a plate towards Kenny._ The poisoned plate._

Kenny smiled. "Thanks dude."

Butters stood up, and sat down again. He could feel Craig and Tweek staring at him, but he didn't care. This was wrong, all wrong! He watched as Kenny ate greedily, barely pausing to breathe between mouthfuls. When he'd finished, he sat back, grinned, and patted his stomach. Butters sighed with relief. Maybe Kenny, thanks to all of his varied deaths, was just immune to some things that would kill normal people. Maybe…

Or not. Kenny began to convulse violently, banging against his chair and the table. Foam came out of his nose and mouth. He screamed in pain and then…nothing. He slumped forward onto the table and lay still. The room was deathly silent. Stan, who was sitting next to him, gently placed his finger against Kenny's neck. He pulled back in alarm.

"All my god, they killed Kenny!" he shouted.

"You bastards!" Kyle yelled to no-one in particular.

With that protocol out of the way, the noise level in the room went up again. Butters, still in shock, slumped back into his chair, shaking his head. For the next 10 minutes he sat there, mumbling quietly:

"The wrong one. He was the wrong one."

*

"Snap out of it, Leopold!"

"But I killed Kenny! I didn't mean to, but I did!"

"A minor setback."

"A minor setback! Is that what you call it?" Butters stared into his mirror. He was in his room, where he'd spent the rest of the afternoon since getting home from school. Kenny's death had tormented him, replaying constantly in his head during the afternoon's lessons.

"Everyone has killed Kenny at some point," Chaos said dismissively.

"But not like that," Butters said, tears welling in his eyes. "That was horrible."

"Listen, Leopold, you need to stop this," Chaos said gently. "Kenny's death was tragic, but it was an accident. You need to understand that. I need you on top form tomorrow, if we're to carry out Plan B."

"There's a Plan B?"

"Oh yes." Chaos' tone was sinister. "Eric Cartman got lucky today, but he won't escape tomorrow, I promise." Chaos stared into the mirror. He raised Butters' left hand.

"Are you with me?"

Butters stared at the floor for the moment. Then he covered his left hand with his right.

"I'm with you."

**Phew! Well, I hope you're enjoying so far, please review if you are or even if you're not! Next chapter coming soon, hopefully.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**I don't own South Park, or any of its characterzzz…**

**Thanks for the reviews – I'm sorry it's been a while, but here we are (finally) with chapter 3.**

**Chapter 3 – Plan B**

The very next evening, Stan, Kyle, Cartman and the now-resurrected Kenny walked down Main Street, all talking loudly. They were on their way to Stan's to watch a new 3D horror film, _Splatterfest _on DVD, and, as an added bonus, they would have the house to themselves. Stan's parents, Randy and Sharon, had gone out with the Stotches, and his sister Shelley was out with her new boyfriend Sonny, although Shelley had warned Stan that unless he and his friends were gone by the time she and Sonny got back, she'd nail his balls to the wall.

"I cannot wait to see this movie," Kenny said excitedly.

"Clyde saw it at the cinema," Stan said. "He said the 3D effects were amazing. Body parts literally fly off the screen at you."

"3D is a bunch of crap," Cartman grumbled.

The others stopped and stared at him.

"Cartman, you've been going on about this movie since it came out," Kyle said. "What gives?"

"Nothing," Cartman replied testily. "I'm just saying, that's all."

He pushed past them and carried on.

"Maybe we shouldn't watch this," Stan said, looking at the DVD. "I mean, after what happened yesterday."

None of the boys had mentioned the previous days events, not even Cartman. After Kenny's body had been collected, his plate had been sent to Professor Mephisto, a local scientist and nutjob, who confirmed the food had been poisoned with weedkiller. On hearing the news, Cartman had reacted the same way he always did: threatening violence to anybody who messed with him. But Kyle and Stan, who'd known him since pre-school, could see past the angry façade to the real truth – Cartman was freaked. Really freaked.

"Hello-oo," Kenny said angrily. "I'm the one who died. I don't see you worrying about me watching _Splatterfest_."

The other two ignored him and watched Cartman cross the street and head into a grocery store.

"Now what's he doing?" Stan asked.

"He's going to do what he always does when he's worried," Kyle replied. "Eat – and hope the problem goes away."

The boys went into the grocery store just in time to see Cartman, his arms full of crisps, donuts, chocolate and a bottle of Pepsi heading to the counter. The owner, a balding, grey haired man with a salt and pepper moustache, watched him with a raised eyebrow. He tilled everything up while Cartman waited, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter.

"Okay, that's $14.50," the owner said cheerily.

"14 dollars!" Cartman shouted. "Where the hell do you think we are, Cuba?"

"We are in a recession, kid, if you hadn't noticed."

"Goddamn credit crunch," Cartman mumbled as he fumbled in his pockets. Finally he came up with a crumpled 10 dollar bill, a button and a drawing pin.

"Shit! Stan, gimme 5 dollars."

"You already owe me 10."

"Goddamit. Kyle, gimme 5 dollars."

"Fuck. Kenny…forget it."

Cartman rootled around in his pockets again and came up empty handed.

"I'm going to have to put some of this back, son," the owner said.

"Don't fucking move it!" Cartman shouted at him, startling him. "Kyle – gimme – 5 – dollars."

"I – don't – have – any – money."

"Don't lie, Kyle. Jews always have money."

"Yeah, well I don't."

Cartman's face began to go a very dangerous shade of red. Even the owner stepped back.

"_Goddamit Kyle gimme 5 dollars!_"

"I don't have – "

"Okay, okay, here." Stan thrust a 5 dollar bill towards Cartman. "Now you owe me 15," he added.

Cartman snatched the bill out of Stan's hand and glared at Kyle. He paid and gathered up what he could carry, leaving Stan to get the rest.

"Hey, kid, you got 50 cents change!" the owner called after Cartman.

"Keep it, fascist," Cartman said rudely. He pulled open the shop door and farted in the owner's direction.

The boys ambled aimlessly out of Main Street onto Stan's street. Cartman wandered a little behind the others, trying to open the donuts while keeping hold of the Pepsi. Eventually he got the packet open and tore into them, barely pausing to breathe between each one. The other boys crossed the road and walked towards Stan's house. The street was almost eerily quiet, probably because the temperature had just hit -10. Cartman, still wrestling with the snacks, started to cross the road, then stopped, right in the middle, trying to unscrew the Pepsi.

"Hey guys, wait up!" he called after them.

"Hurry the fuck up, fatass. It's freezing out here," Kenny called back.

None of them noticed the car parked a little way down the street, it's engine idling.

Cartman finally unscrewed the Pepsi lid and chucked it into the street.

The car's headlight flicked on.

Cartman lifted the bottle with difficulty and drank, savouring his first sugar rush in days.

The car's engine revved and it shot forwards.

"CARTMAN, LOOK OUT!!"

Cartman half turned, and was dazzled by a very fast moving pair of headlights. He dropped the bottle and stared, rooted to the spot with fear. His panicked brain raced, throwing thoughts around like confetti in the wind.

_He has to stop, right?_

_Jump._

_He will stop._

Jump.

_He isn't going to stop._

_JUMP!_

Cartman jumped. The car brushed his backside as it shot past him. He hit the road with a thud and rolled to the kerbside. The driver, clearly not expecting Cartman's quick reactions, hit the brakes. The car skidded on the slick road, bounced up and down a grass verge and shot away up Main Street. Cartman sat up, brushing crushed donuts from his leather jacket.

"This is real leather, you asshole!" he shouted after the disappearing taillights

He stood up unsteadily as the others arrived.

"Jesus Christ dude! I thought you were a goner!" Kenny said breathlessly.

"We should call the police," Kyle said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Did anyone get the plates?"

"No. No police." Cartman knocked the phone out of Kyle's hand. "I'll find out who's behind this and I'll kick their ass."

He pushed past them and stalked up the street, examining a large graze on his right hand. He breathed deeply as his hands began to shake, and shoved them into his pockets.

Behind him, the other three stood in silence, still shocked. Stan stared wonderingly up Main Street.

"Y'know, the driver kinda looked like Butters…" his voice trailed off. "Nah, couldn't be." They shivered as the temperature plummeted still further. "C'mon, let's go.

Kyle stooped to pick his phone out of a snowdrift, and something else tumbled out of his coat pocket. Stan retrieved it with a raised eyebrow.

"No money, huh?" He tossed Kyle's wallet back to him.

Kyle smiled sheepishly. "Oops."

*

Butters burst through the front door, his heart racing. He tore his coat off and threw the car keys back into the bowl where his mother always kept them. Then he shot upstairs into his bedroom, shut the door, and pulled a chest of drawers across it, just to be sure. He dived into bed and pulled the duvet up over his head. He lay in the darkness, shaking.

Any minute now the cops were going to batter the door down, he was sure of it. How could they be so stupid, how the hell had they thought they were going to get away with it? Sure, it had been Chaos' idea, but it would be him, Butters, who would go to jail.

He'd known they were going to Stan's of course. They'd talked about nothing else but _Splatterfest _all day. Then it was all about waiting for the perfect opportunity, which that asshole Cartman had given them himself! Butters remembered the look of sheer terror on Cartman's face as he – or rather Chaos – had driven straight at him. He started to laugh as he remembered Cartman's miraculous leap to safety. He was almost disappointed that Cartman hadn't bounced like a beach ball when he hit the road.

And then Butters couldn't stop laughing. He laughed harder than he'd laughed at the last Judd Apatow film. He laughed until his sides hurt and he couldn't breathe, then he lay in the dark, panting.

"Finished?" Chaos said suddenly.

"Yeah, I think…" Butters panted, his eyes watering.

"Don't crack up on me, Leopold. That's the last thing we need."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It's just this whole thing, it's making me crazy." He paused. Chaos wasn't going to like the next part. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

"Don't lose heart. Cartman just got lucky again, that's all. Who knew he was so agile?" Chaos smirked. "We _will_ get him next time."

"That's what I mean. I don't want there to be a next time." Butters sat up and pushed the duvet back. "I don't want to do this anymore. If I kill Eric, my parents are gonna be seriously pissed off."

"What?" Chaos sounded incredulous.

"I'm sorry, Professor Chaos, but I was thinking while we were sat in the car all that time – you're doing this for you, not me." Butter twiddled his fingers nervously. "A-and I don't really want to kill Eric anyway. I mean sure, he pisses me off, but he doesn't deserve to die. You understand that don't you, Professor?" The room suddenly became deathly quiet. "P-Professor Chaos?"

Suddenly, Butters left hand reached out, all of it's own accord, and grabbed a framed picture of Butters and his parents from a chest of drawers beside the bed. Chaos smashed it against the wall, then picked a shard of glass from the mess. He stuck the glass, hard, into Butters right arm. Butters screamed.

"Now, you listen to me," Chaos hissed. "I call the shots, Leopold. I can make it so that _you_ are the one who is forgotten, just like I was for 5 years. This doesn't stop until Eric Cartman breathes his last. Got it?" He twisted the glass.

"Yes!" Another twist. "YES!"

"Good." Chaos pulled the glass out. Butters cried out again. "Now sleep. Tomorrow is a new day."

Butters lay in the darkness, tears streaming down his face, and blood running down his arm. He shut his eyes and shivered. How had he let this monster come to life?

Somehow, he had to stop him. Somehow, he would stop him.

**Well, that's the end of chapter 3, hope you're enjoying! Please review or flame! Chapter 4 coming soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**Chapter 4 - Plan C**

**I do not own South Park.**

**Many thanks to everyone who reviewed so far, and also those who told me to get my arse into gear and write the next chapter. Sorry for the wait, here we go…**

Butters awoke early the next morning, and lay dozing for a while. The events of the previous night felt like a hazy, distant dream as he lay curled up under his duvet. It was only when he rolled onto his right arm and pain shot through him that cold, hard reality kicked in.

He sat up and pushed the duvet back. He stared at the bandage on his arm, then shook his head and clambered out of bed. He rubbed his eyes as he wandered over to the mirror, an old antique that his gran had left him. He gazed at his reflection – and screamed. In his left hand was…a gun.

He clapped his free hand over his mouth and breathed deeply, until his screams became terrified squeaks.

"Calm down Leopold," Chaos said, muffled behind the hand.

Butters removed his hand from his mouth. "What the…how did…did you…?" he spluttered.

"I took the liberty while you were asleep," Chaos said, grinning evilly.

Butters watched the words coming out of his own mouth with a growing sense of unease.

"I've decided to take a more direct approach to the Eric Cartman problem," Chaos continued.

"B-But that's my dad's gun," Butters said. "He uses it to scare away Jehovah's Witnesses. He'll be awful mad if he knows it's gone."

"It'll be back before he realises," Chaos said flippantly.

He moved away from the mirror and began pacing. Butters went along for the ride.

"Now, tell me everything you know about Eric Cartman." Chaos said. He waved the gun nonchalantly as he spoke. Butters eyed it nervously.

"Like what?"

"Hobbies, likes and dislikes. Anything."

"W-well, okay."

Butters reeled off everything he knew about Cartman, which was quite a lot given that he'd known him since pre-school. When he finished, Chaos was silent for a moment.

"Anything else?"

"Well…I guess – there is his herbal tea business."

"Herbal tea business?" Chaos said slowly.

"Yeah. He sells herbal tea to kids all over South Park. He grows the plants in his basement, chops them up and sells them in these little plastic bags. It makes the kids act kinda goofy, though." Butters paused, then added quietly: "That's why he beat me up the other day. That lamp was for his plants. He said he lost most of his crop because I dropped that lamp."

"Hmmm." Chaos thought for a moment, then smiled. "I think I have a plan."

Butters sighed deeply. "Ahh shit, here we go again."

*

Just a couple of streets away, another teenager was having an equally bad morning.

Eric Cartman lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. A baseball bat lay across his stomach. His TV played infomercials quietly in the corner.

Cartman was exhausted. He'd had no sleep in the past couple of nights, and his head was spinning. His eyes ached, along with most of his body, but he couldn't sleep. Not while the maniac was still out there, waiting…

He forced his eyes open again and held the baseball bat a bit tighter. He was not leaving this room, not until his would be killer gave up, or was caught. And if he did try to get in, the bastard would eat wood. Nope, he was not moving, not for anyone…Cartman sat up and sniffed the air as a delicious aroma wafted into his room. Pancakes. Yeah, well, maybe it was safe to leave for a little while.

His mom, Liane, was brewing coffee when he wandered into the kitchen.

"Morning, hon," she trilled as he sat down at the table.

Cartman grunted a greeting as he eyed the freshly cooked pancakes.

"I thought you were doing so well with your diet, you deserved a little treat," Liane said, plopping pancakes onto Cartman's plate.

She watched as he tiredly spooned butter, syrup and chocolate sauce onto his already calorie-laden breakfast.

"Are you alright, hon?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, just a little tired."

"I heard you last night, wandering about," Liane said, as she poured coffee. "Anything you want to tell me, hon?"

Cartman swallowed some pancake, then laid his knife and fork down. "Someone's trying to kill me, mom. Have we got any more syrup?"

"What! Someone's trying to kill my baby!" Liane frowned. "Are you sure, poopsie?"

"Someone poisoned my lunch a couple days ago, but they got Kenny instead." Cartman slurped coffee. "I gave Kenny my lunch, cos he's such a pov," he added quickly.

"Ahh, you're a little sweetie really, aren't you?" Liane ruffled Cartman's hair. He glared at her. "Are you sure Chef didn't make a mistake?"

"Mom, it was fucking weedkiller!" Cartman shouted, beginning to get worked up. "Are you telling me he keeps the weedkiller next to the fucking cheese sauce? Fucking hell!"

Liane barely blinked at the foul mouthed onslaught.

"Anything else happened, hon?"

"The bastard tried to run me over last night." Cartman pushed his empty plate away. "This car just came at me out of nowhere. I barely got out of the way in time."

"Well, maybe the driver couldn't see you," Liane said. "You're so slim now."

She beamed at her "so slim" son, who was still three times the size of the average teenager. Cartman rubbed his eyes and sighed with frustration. He loved his mom dearly, but hell, she was one stupid, useless whore.

"Well, hon, you'd better get dressed or you'll miss your bus," Liane said, as she loaded the breakfast things into the dishwasher.

"Haven't you heard anything I've just said?" Cartman exclaimed angrily. "Someone is trying to _kill _me. I cannot go to school." He put on his most innocent, winsome face. "Can I stay with you?"

"I'm sorry, poopsiekins, but mommy has to go out today."

"Goddamit!" Cartman stood up, and headed out of the kitchen. He paused in the doorway. "If I die, my death'll be on your conscience _forever_."

"Okay, hon!"

Cartman stomped upstairs, grumbling to himself, got dressed, and had just enough time to go down to the basement and water what remained of his "herbal tea" plants. As he re-emerged, Liane appeared. Cartman jumped.

"Goddamit mom! Don't do that!"

"I just wanted to say: I'm sure you'll be fine at school, sweetie. There are plenty of other people to look out for you." She smiled at him encouragingly.

Yeah, Cartman thought as he left. Plenty of people. And one very pissed off murderer.

*

"Cartman! Hey, fatass!"

"What, Jewfag?"

"What would you do?"

"About what?"

The boys were sitting on benches near the playing fields at South Park High. They had an unexpected free period that afternoon because had not turned up for work thanks to a stomach upset caused by some bad spunk.

"We're playing Marry, Kill or Screw between Angelina Jolie, Scarlett Johansson and Paris Hilton," Stan explained to the bemused Cartman. "I'd marry Angelina, screw Scarlett and kill Paris."

"I'm the opposite," Kyle said. "I'd marry Scarlett and screw Angelina."

"Me, I'd screw Paris," Kenny said, grinning lazily. "Then I could film it."

"You are sick, dude," Stan said, shaking his head.

"What about you, Cartman?" Kyle asked.

"I really don't care," Cartman said wearily. "I got bigger problems."

"Oh yeah, someone's trying to kill you," Kyle said. "Any idea who it is yet?"

"No, not yet."

Cartman had spent some of the previous night writing out a shortlist of people who had a grudge against him, or just hated him, so might want to kill him. He had to stop when the shortlist got to 25 people.

"Have you slept at all recently?" Stan asked, noting Cartman's pale face and the dark circles around his eyes. "You look terrible."

"I'm fine," Cartman said defensively. "I'll feel even better when I catch the little scrotum who's doing this."

"This is really getting to you, isn't it?" Stan said quietly.

"_No_."

"It's okay, dude, you can tell us."

"Goddamit, Stan, I'm fine." Cartman stood up and grabbed his backpack. "I can handle this on my own. I don't need any of you."

"Oh come on Cartman – "

"Screw you guys, I am going home." Cartman strode away.

"Why do I get the feeling this is gonna end badly?" Kenny asked as they watched him go.

Cartman had nearly reached the main path which led out of the school when he heard a familiar, annoying voice behind him.

"H-Hey Eric! Where you goin'?"

"Fuck off, Butters."

"Hey, wait up!" Butters jogged after Cartman, then fell into step beside him. "Are you okay?"

"I said fuck off, Butters."

"Aww shucks, you haven't forgiven me for ruining your herbal tea plants, have you?" Butters suddenly looked incredibly upset.

"I haven't forgiven you for being born, Butters."

"I-I can make it up to you," Butters said. He lowered his voice. "You know the wood outside South Park, the one near the mountains? Well, I was walking in there yesterday, and I found them!"

"Found what?" Cartman said, half interested.

"Your herbal tea plants! At least, I'm pretty sure they were. I don't know for sure!" Butters gabbled nervously.

"What!" Cartman stopped and stared at Butters suspiciously. As far as he knew, Butters wouldn't know what a hash plant was if one grew out of his nose.

"Well, like I said, I'm not sure," Butters said falteringly. "I just thought maybe, y'know, we could go check it out."

"Me, go with you – to the woods?" Cartman thought about this. He didn't really want to go anywhere where there were no weapons within easy reach – _but _he had lost most of his crop. He didn't to go somewhere he didn't know, where he would be a sitting duck – _but_ he also didn't want his pot-starved "customers" going elsewhere for their illegal fix. He stared at Butters, weighing up his options.

"Okay, we'll go," he said finally. "Meet me here after school tomorrow."

"Okay. Remember to wear your good walking boots!" Butters said merrily.

Cartman ignored that last remark and walked on. Behind him, Professor Chaos grinned manically.

Cartman mulled over the conversation he had just had, which was odd to say the least. The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. He shook his head. Maybe he was just paranoid. After all, this was _Butters_.

How dangerous could it be?


	5. Chapter 5

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, keep going, we're nearly there!**

**I don't own South Park.**

**Chapter 5: The Final Showdown**

The sun beamed in through Butters' bedroom window the next morning. It was going to be a good day, unfortunately. Butters got dressed, purposely avoiding looking at the mirror. He picked up his backpack and then the gun, which lay on the chest of drawers next to his bed. He opened the backpack and then paused, staring at the gun.

"Remember what we talked about last night, Leopold," Chaos said suddenly.

"Yeah, I remember," Butters mumbled, rubbing the bandage on his right arm, which had gotten longer.

Butters put the gun carefully into his backpack and went downstairs, where his parents, Martin and Linda, sat in the kitchen chatting merrily. It was all a lie of course - they hadn't been happy for years. His mom told him often: "Even if the sky is grey and you're sleeping on a soggy mattress down Crack Alley, selling your body for heroin, be happy!" Happy, happy, happy! Butters felt a stupid rictus grin forming across his face as he joined his parents. God, no wonder he was so fucked up. He ate some toast and stared into space while his parents went through their nauseous lets-pretend-we-don't-hate-each-other routine.

"Mom, Dad, I'm going to be late home today," Butters said when they finally fell silent. "I'm going out after school with a friend."

"My little Butters is going out? With a friend? How wonderful!" Linda said over enthusiastically.

"It's not Lester, is it?" Martin asked sternly.

"No, dad."

"Because Lester is _imaginary_. You do know that, don't you, son?"

"Yes, dad."

"Our little Butters, going out after school with a real life, flesh and blood friend," Martin said reverentially. He gulped the last of his coffee. "This is a great day for the Stotches." He kissed Linda goodbye and ruffled Butters' hair. "See you later, son. Be careful." He grabbed his briefcase and left.

"Yes, be careful, Butters," Linda said, as he got up to leave. "There are all kinds of psychopaths out there. Where are you going, anyway?"

"It's a surprise. For my friend," Butters said quickly. "Gotta go! Bye, mom!" He left before she could question him further.

As they walked up the drive, Chaos said quietly: "Oh yes. When Eric Cartman goes down to the woods today, he's sure of a _big_ surprise."

*

Cartman stood outside South Park High, stamping his feet and grumbling to himself. It was a very cold day, in spite of the sun, and he'd been stood there for 15 minutes, waiting for that gaylord Butters to show for their little after school trip. He decided to give him another couple of minutes and if he didn't show: fuck him.

"H-Hey Eric! Sorry I'm late!" Cartman heard a call behind him and turned.

"Finally! I've been freezing my ass off out here!" He noticed Butters holding toilet paper against his right arm. "You okay?"

Butters winced. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay. Just had a little accident in the toilets just now," he said, attempting a smile. "It's nothing. Shall we go?"

He walked off quickly, leaving Cartman to stare after him. Butters didn't look okay – far from it. He looked freaked.

*

"How much farther?" Cartman called as he puffed along behind Butters. They were deep inside the wood, and the path was getting steeper and rockier. The wood was full of pine trees and was actually quite pretty, but Cartman was too knackered to appreciate it. "I swear to God, Butters, if you've dragged me all the way in here for no reason, I'll kick your ass into next week," he said, between pants.

"Oh, don't worry, I haven't," Butters replied.

There was definitely something strange going on with him. Ever since they'd entered the wood Butters had seemed to become taller, more confident. There was almost an air of arrogance about the way he carried himself now. Cartman didn't like it one bit.

They followed the path until it opened out into a small clearing. Butters marched into the middle and spread his arms wide. "Well, here we are," he cried.

Cartman bent over and took a few deep breaths, relieved that their trek appeared to have ended. When he'd recovered sufficiently he stood up and looked around. Aside from a few bushes and blackened patches of grass that had once been campfires, the clearing was bare. No "herbal tea" plants.

"There's nothing here." Cartman turned back to Butters, who grinned at him. "You sure we're in the right place?"

Butters didn't reply – he just stood there, with that strange, manic grin. Cartman backed away. This was beyond weird.

"Whatever, Butters. I'm going."

Butters reached into his backpack and pulled out a gun. He aimed it squarely at Cartman's chest.

"No, you're not," he said. The creepy grin disappeared. "You're not going anywhere. This'll be the last place you ever see."

Cartman stared at Butters, completely dumbfounded. So there were two people who wanted him dead, now? Butters and the poisoner/hit'n'run driver. Unless…

"It's you," he said, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. "It's all been you."

Butters laughed. "Yes! It was all me. Well us, actually. Can't take all the credit. I couldn't have done it without Butters."

Cartman felt like his head was about to explode. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"You don't remember me?" Butters asked. He cocked his head on one side. "Your old nemesis, Professor Chaos?"

Cartman stared at him blankly.

"Oh, well, doesn't matter anyway." Chaos said dismissively. "It's not like you'll be telling anyone." His finger danced impatiently above the trigger. "Shall we get this over with then? Any last words?"

"Uh, yeah." Cartman's mind raced, looking for something, _anything_ to say, no matter how lame. "Why are you doing this?"

"We don't have to explain ourselves to you," Chaos replied. He placed his finger on the trigger.

"Ah, come on," Cartman said desperately. "I at least wanna know why before you whack me."

"All right then," Chaos said, playing along. "It's because we hate you."

"Why don't you let Butters speak for himself?" Cartman asked. He almost laughed. This was, without a doubt, the most bizarre conversation he'd ever had. "C'mon, Butters, I know you're in there. Come out and join the party."

Butters/Chaos fell silent. A look of consternation crossed the boy's face as the two personalities inside him fought for control. The gun in his hand began to shake slightly. Finally the right hand came up and pushed the left hand, which held the gun, down by his side.

"I'm real sorry, Eric," Butters said in a small voice.

"Why are you doing this?" Cartman asked. He took a surreptitious step forward. "I know I've pissed you off in the past, but this is a little extreme."

Butters stared at the ground. Tears welled in his big, azure eyes. "I just wanted you to like me, Eric," he said softly. "That's all I've ever wanted."

"I do like you, Butters," Cartman said. He took another step forward. "I like you a whole lot better than those faggots I normally hand out with." And another step.

Butters looked up, tears streaming down his face. He glared at Cartman. "No you don't! You don't like me; you just like to use me! Like Professor Chaos uses me, like everybody fucking uses me!" His face red with rage, he pointed the gun at Cartman again.

Cartman took a few steps back and held his hands up. He had been hoping to get close enough to Butters to perform a swift uppercut, a la Jean Claude Van Damme, but Butters' sudden outburst had put the mockers on that plan. He was going to have to go straight to the last resort: try and reason with the short-arsed psycho.

"Listen to me, Butters," he said, as slowly and calmly as he could manage, "You do not want to do this, okay? You wouldn't like prison. A little blond haired cutie like you would be prime ass in there. You'd get sold around for cigarettes. You wouldn't last 5 minutes." He took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for a response. "You hearing me, Butters?"

Butters shook his head and smiled, despite the tears. "Is that it?" he asked. His tone was derisory. "Is that the best you can do? You should be begging for your life! Instead you're mocking me. That's all I am to you, isn't it? A figure of fun."

Cartman floundered around, looking for something else to say. "Uh, Butters, listen dude – "

"My mom and dad, they keep telling me how useless and worthless I am," Butters interrupted angrily, "but they can't even be bothered to hold their fucking marriage together! And my so called 'friends' at school, they laugh at me behind my back and they think I don't know, but I know. Oh, I know." Cartman didn't even attempt to interrupt as nearly 15 years worth of pain and anger poured out of his tormentor. "And you." He looked up. "You're the worst one of all. Pretending to be my friend and then letting me take the fall when things go wrong. Abusing my body, my trust, my love…" his gaze locked onto Cartman's and wouldn't let go. "I would have done anything for you, Eric. Anything."

Cartman blinked, letting the last part of the rant sink in. "Abusing my body, my trust, my _love_…" Jesus Christ. The creep had a crush on him.

"I tried to hate you," Butters continued, his voice breaking Cartman's train of thought. "I tried so hard. But I just-just…can't." He burst into tears again. The gun fell down by his side.

Cartman stood stock still, completely stunned. He'd always had suspicions that Butters batted for the other side, but he'd had no idea about the boy's feelings for him.

"C'mon, Butters," he said, when he'd finally regained his senses. "Let's go." He turned to leave.

"Not so fast," a chilling voice said behind him.

Cartman turned around slowly. He'd forgotten about Professor Chaos.

The evil expression had returned to Butters face. "Leopold is weak. I am not," Chaos said coldly. The gun came up level with Cartman's chest again. "Goodbye Eric."

"NO!!" Butters' right hand suddenly came up again and grappled with his left, trying to grab the gun. It swung around wildly as Butters and Chaos fought for supremacy.

Cartman was never quite sure what happened next, just that there was a loud bang, and then a white hot pain in his chest, pain like he'd never felt before, that sent shockwaves around his brain and almost blinded him. He screamed and slumped to the ground.

Butters stared in shock, first at the gun, still clasped in his hands, then at the smoking hole in Cartman's leather jacket. He watched dumbly as Cartman unzipped his jacket. They both stared stupidly at the large scarlet stain spreading rapidly across his white T-shirt. Butters screamed.

"Butters, help me," Cartman said weakly.

Butters screamed again. He threw the gun into the long grass and ran out of the clearing, his screams echoing through the wood.

"Butters, please…don't leave me," Cartman murmured. He waited for a few seconds, hoping the boy might come back, but the wood remained silent, mocking him and his predicament.

He looked around for something to grip, and spotted a tree stump close by. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed it and pulled himself laboriously into a sitting position. He fumbled into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. He said a silent prayer as he flipped the lid, and then a very audible curse at the two words on the screen. No signal. No fucking signal.

"God, I hate the fucking environment! Fucking hippies!" he shouted at no-one in particular. He dropped the ineffectual phone into the grass.

Cartman suddenly felt incredibly tired. The pain was becoming duller with every passing second. Warm, sticky blood ran down his stomach and into his pants. He laid his head back against the tree trunk and took a few shallow breaths, staring up at the bright blue sky. Birds he didn't know the name of fluttered about in the trees, singing merrily to each other. Cartman shut his eyes. This was a nice place really. Peaceful. The perfect place to die.

Cartman thought about his mom. Then about his friends. He let their images fill his head for a few short, happy seconds. Then he considered his last words. Everybody needed last words, even if there was no-one around to hear them. He smiled wanly. He gathered up what remained of his strength and shouted: "Fuck you, Stan. Fuck you, Kyle. Fuck you, Kenny."

A nice, floaty sensation came over him as he sat, slumped, drifting in and out of consciousness. His grip on the tree stump began to slacken and he slid down a little. The urge to float away was overwhelming, and Cartman couldn't resist any longer. The pain was just a distant memory. Just before he fell into unconsciousness again, Cartman was sure he heard someone call his name.

"Jesus?" he mumbled.

Cartman took one more raggedy breath. His chest rose and fell, then became still.

His heart gave one last, defiant beat.

And Eric Theodore Cartman died.

**Or does**** he?... **

**Hmm, I think this chapter's a little long, but if you're still awake, please review. I promise not to be so long with the next chappy (there is another one, probably two).**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! Chapter 6 up soon…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**I can't believe it, Chapter 6! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, especially Mrs Pirrup – you are one crazy lady, I adore you! Anyway, let's crack on…**

**Chapter 6 – Death Becomes Him**

"Ollie, ollie, ollie,

Tits in the trolley,

Balls in the biscuit tin,

Sitting on the grass,

Finger up your arse,

Playing with your ding-a-ling-ling," Kenny sang merrily, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Dude, what is that?" Stan asked, laughing.

"It's a song Pip taught me," Kenny replied.

The boys were in Kenny's dad's pickup truck, travelling east out of South Park towards Phil Collins Hill. Stan sat next to Kenny with his feet up on the dashboard, while Kyle sat squashed against the door, his head in a book. Kyle didn't care much for the truck. It was dirty and there was a fetid smell of alcohol and vomit. Kenny was the only one of the boys to have access to a car, so it had earned him new kudos within the group. The only problem was travelling around in a vehicle that in Cartman's words smelt "worse than a tramp's ass."

Kyle wriggled around in the limited space he had, trying to get comfy. There was something else that was bothering him too, and it wasn't the smell.

"Don't you think this is a little pervy?" he said, "I mean, going to Phil Collins Hill to spy on a slumber party. Are we really that desperate?"

"Dude, this is not just a slumber party, this is a _Bebe Stephens _slumber party." Kenny said. "They're always wild. Last time, the girls got drunk on cider and danced around to the _Mamma Mia!_ soundtrack in their underwear. It was awesome. So I heard."

Kyle and Stan exchanged glances as Kenny became unusually interested in the road.

"Yeah, well, it still feels wrong," Kyle said stubbornly.

"The only thing wrong here is you," Stan said with a wry smile.

"Whaddaya mean by that?"

"Kyle, there is a chance we might see some of the hottest girls in our school get naked. I repeat _naked_. And you bring your goddamn history homework."

"Hey, if you wanna flunk tomorrow's test, be my guest," Kyle said, opening the textbook again.

Stan shook his head. Kyle was deadly serious about his studies, almost to the point of obsession. He would rather contract a tropical skin disease than get a B, and would probably throw himself under the school bus if he ever got an F. Stan plucked the book out of Kyle's hands.

"Tonight, Kyle Broflovski, we are going to further your education in the female of the species," Stan said with a grin.

He leant across Kyle, squashing him even more, and wound down the window. He threw the book out and sat back triumphantly.

"Dude, not cool!" Kyle shouted angrily.

"You'll thank me on your wedding night," Stan said with a wink.

Silence descended on the truck as Kyle glared out of the window, and Stan and Kenny tried not to laugh at his indignation.

"Did you get the binoculars from your Uncle Jimbo?" Kenny asked Stan after a while. Kyle glared even harder.

"That's not all I got." Stan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something black and threatening.

"A Taser! Cool!"

"There's a lot of bears up there at this time of year. He said a good blast from this should scare 'em."

They passed the pine wood at the bottom of the mountains. Kyle gazed out at it. It looked dark and foreboding.

"Have either of you guys seen Cartman?" Kenny asked. "I thought he'd be totally up for this."

"He disappeared right after our last class," Stan replied. "He looked as though he was in a hurry. No 'see ya later fags' or anything."

"Ah, fuck him," Kenny said languidly. "His loss."

He smiled to himself. Tonight was going to be a good night. He began to hum the Ollie Ollie Ollie song again.

"Kenny, look out!" Kyle shouted.

Kyle's voice shook Kenny out of his reverie just in time for him to see something – or rather someone – stumble out into the road in front of him. He hit the brakes and swerved. The truck skidded badly on its bald tyres and did a 180, ending up pointing in the direction it had just come. All three boys sat, breathing deeply.

"Are you guys okay?" Kenny asked. The other two, pale faced but fortunately unhurt, looked at him and nodded in unison. "Who is that asshole, anyway?"

He peered out through the dirty windscreen at the figure who was cowering in the middle of the road.

"Butters?"

*

Eric Cartman was pissed off. Not just about the fact that he had died, which was a major irritation in itself, but about death in general. Death, he decided, sucked ass.

All around Cartman was…nothing. No singing angels, no snarling demons. Nothing. Just darkness. Cartman stood in the middle of it like a hitchhiker waiting for a ride.

He tried to walk, but his legs wouldn't move. It was as though they were shackled to the floor, or whatever passed for the floor here. He started to panic. This wasn't right at all. Maybe he had been FedExed to the wrong place. Or maybe, the more rational side of his mind said, this is it. This is my afterlife. No TV, no food, no people. My personal hell.

Cartman had heard a lot about hell from Kenny, who'd died so many times he was on first name terms with Satan. According to Kenny, hell was all fire, brimstone and tortured screams. Cartman would have given anything to hear a tortured scream. He'd died alone – was he really supposed to spend the rest of eternity by himself too? The hell with that!

He struggled against his invisible binds for a while without success. Eventually he gave up and looked around, trying to make out anything that might help him. It was pitch black, and Cartman felt blind.

"Hello!" he shouted, more in hope than expectation.

"Hello."

"Aaargh!" Cartman would have jumped out of his skin, had he still been in it. He twisted around, searching for the voice's owner.

"Sorry. Let me come around there, so you can see me."

Cartman turned around in time to see a teenage girl standing in front of him. She was slender, with neatly cropped light brown hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a light blue dress and matching cardigan, which made her look like an extra from _Grease_.

"Who are you, bitch?" Cartman asked curiously.

The girl visibly winced at the word 'bitch'. "My name is Patience. I'm your guardian angel, Eric."

"You're my guardian angel?" Cartman looked her up and down disparagingly. He would have preferred a Playboy Bunny. "Where the hell were you when I needed you?!"

Patience smiled politely. This was always top of the recently deceased's FAQs.

"I cannot interfere in life, Eric," she answered. She had a soft voice, her accent was possibly Alabama. Cartman wasn't sure, he wasn't good with accents.

"So, where the hell am I, slagbag?" he asked.

The girl winced again. It was like a nervous twitch. "You're stuck in Limbo, Eric. This is the gateway between life and death. Some people call it the Halfway House." Cartman looked around. He hadn't seen anything that looked less like a house, unless you counted Kenny's place. "You're here because you can't move on," Patience continued. "Something is holding you back."

"That's why I can't move," Cartman said slowly, realisation dawning.

"Yes. The thing about Limbo is that this doesn't have to be the end," Patience said. "You still have a choice. You can either go forward – " at the word 'forward', a door opened in the darkness, "or you can go back."

At the word 'back', Cartman was hit by a flash. He was floating in the treetops of the wood were he'd died. Below him, leaning over his body, were Stan and Kyle. They appeared to be doing something, although Cartman couldn't see what. A few feet away Butters stood, his fist in his mouth, shaking violently. Cartman blinked and found himself back in the cloying darkness.

"What the hell are those assholes doing to me?" he asked angrily. "Am I here because of them?"

Patience didn't answer. She gazed at him with big, innocent hazel eyes. Cartman shuddered. She reminded him of a female Butters.

"You need to make a choice, Eric," she said. "Forward or back. If you don't, it will be taken out of your hands. You need to decide quickly, you're running out of time."

Cartman noticed his invisible shackles felt looser than when he'd arrived. He could move his legs around more easily. He had a feeling that that wasn't a good thing.

"Where does that go?" He nodded towards the door.

"It leads to where you're meant to go if – or when – you pass over," Patience replied. Cartman could feel an overpowering heat from inside the door. No prizes for guessing where that led. "You don't have to go," Patience went on. "You can go back to your life – however long that may be."

Cartman flashed again. This time he was in his body, and he was moving very quickly. He saw white walls and heard a cacophony of voices. A male voice came through loud and clear.

"We're going to do everything we can, Eric. Just hang on."

Cartman blinked again, and he was back in Limbo. The vision had been Hells Pass Hospital, he was sure of it. "Whoa, this place is trippy," he said.

"Time is short, Eric," Patience warned.

Cartman tried to focus. The shackles felt looser still, his right leg was almost free. This should be a no brainer, right? he thought. I mean, life or eternal hell. It's not hard. But the cold hard truth was, did he really want to go back? His life had never been happy – everyone despised him and he despised them. Why would he want to go back to that? Hell was probably full of people like him. He might even enjoy himself.

But on the flipside, he was not even a quarter of the way through his life yet. There were so many things left to do, and people to screw. And, there was the manner of his death. Cartman had always imagined he would die in a shootout with police, not be gunned down by a retarded fairy like Butters. He had unfinished business, it was true – but did he really want to go back and finish it? Cartman heard the doctor's voice again. No vision this time, just the voice:

"We're losing him! Goddamit, Eric, stay with us!"

Cartman's right leg came free of its shackle. The left was almost out.

"I need a decision, Eric," Patience said urgently. "Once your left leg's free, that's it. I can't help you."

Cartman was just about to lie down and accept his fate, when a thought entered his mind. His lips curled into a malicious smile as he savoured it. Suddenly, with that one thought, his decision became clear.

"Okay, I'm ready," he said to Patience.

"What is your decision?"

"I want to –"

"Don't say it. _Feel _it."

Cartman shut his eyes and screamed his answer deep inside him, until it built up into an uncontrollable force that shot down through his body to his feet and severed the remaining bond.

He felt happiness flow through him as he realised his answer had been heard. Then he felt nothing.

**Okay, that's the end of Chapter 6! As always, please read'n'review – especially you, Mrs P! I shall cry if you don't!**

**Final chappy up soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Eric Cartman Must Die**

**Okay, this is it – the last chapter, hope you enjoy it.**

**Oh, I forgot the disclaimer in the last chapter, so before I get into trouble: I don't own South Park – Matt'n'Trey do.**

**Chapter 7 – Revenge and Redemption**

He could hear voices. He could hear them clearly, but he didn't know what they were saying, or who they belonged to. They were talking in hushed tones, but he could still hear them. He strained, trying to understand them. Then, a word poked through his subconscious, like a pinprick of light in the dark.

_Cartman._

Cartman? Cartman. Wait, I'm Cartman! That's me!

He tried to speak, to let them know he was there, but nothing came out. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids merely fluttered, then shut again. He gave a howl of frustration that came out as a hoarse gurgle. The voices stopped. Cartman gurgled again.

All hell seemed to break loose. The voices started again, only more excited this time. Someone shouted something. Then a woman spoke to him in soothing tones, and removed something from his mouth. Feeling began to return to various parts of his body. His eyes flickered again, and then opened. He stared blearily as everything blurred into one, and everyone began talking incessantly again. A familiar voice penetrated the haze.

"Finally, he's awake. Can we go now?"

"Screw you, Jew," Cartman rasped.

"My baby, my sweet baby came back!" Liane Cartman cried, and fell on top of her son, sobbing uncontrollably. A nurse dragged her off with difficulty.

"Well, Eric, you're a very lucky young man," the doctor said, as he entered the room. "If it weren't for your friends' quick thinking, you'd be dead."

Cartman just smiled. What did doctors know anyway? "How did you find me?" he whispered.

"Through Butters, actually," Stan said. "We ran into him – almost literally – out on the highway. He was a wreck, but he managed to tell us what had happened. He led us up there. You were in a bad way when we found you. I called your name and I think you called me Jesus." He smiled wanly. "You stopped breathing and we couldn't find a pulse, so I gave you a blast with Uncle Jimbo's taser. I had to do it a couple of times, but it worked. We got you back. Then we stemmed the blood flow as best we could until the paramedics arrived."

"Thanks to me," Kenny said. He was leaning against the doorframe. "I called them from further back."

"Where's Butters?" Cartman asked hoarsely.

"The police have him. That lunatic won't get you now, sweetie." Liane smiled through her tears. "Oh, it's so good to have you back. You'd been asleep so long; I didn't think you were going to wake up."

"How long?" Cartman enquired.

"3 days."

"3 _days_?" He stared at her in amazement. Surely there was no way he'd been in Limbo for 3 days?

"Okay, time to go, everybody," the doctor said. "Eric needs to rest. He's had enough excitement for one day."

The boys filed out first, each saying a quick goodbye. Stan paused in the doorway.

"You owe us big for this one," he said seriously. Then his face broke into a grin. "Let's call it a pizza at Shakey's."

"Asshole."

Stan waved and left. Liane promised Cartman she'd bring in all his favourite treats the next day to help build his strength up. Then, after about two dozen kisses and an interminably long hug, she left, too. Cartman lay awake for a while after everyone had gone, staring at the ceiling and listening to all the comings and goings outside his room. Stan and Kyle were probably out there now, telling everyone what heroes they were. He smiled. Let them have their little moment. Even though his memories of Limbo were hazy now, he knew exactly why he had come back. He remembered clearly the one thought that carried him back to life.

_Revenge_.

*

**Several weeks later…**

Cartman stepped out of the bus, and then stretched as much as his bandages would allow. The journey had been long and cramped, but finally he was here. He gazed up at the modern looking building in front of him: Silverwood Psychiatric Hospital. The best of its kind in Cali, the website trumpeted. The only one of its kind in Cali, Cartman thought. He smiled ruefully. His mom would have a fit if she knew he was here.

He headed inside, feeling nervous. He had no idea how this was going to go down, or if it was even going to work, but he had to try. He'd spent weeks in hospital planning for this day. He couldn't turn back now.

He smiled at the woman behind the front desk and fed her the cover story he'd been practicing on the ride over. She checked her computer, smiled back, and handed him a visitor's pass. She got up and beckoned him to follow her. They walked to a lift and got in.

"You know, we don't normally allow visitors in at this stage of a patient's treatment," she said as they went up. "But the doctor thought it might do him good to see a friend. And you sounded so nice on the phone, Kyle."

Cartman smiled at her. Stupid, gullible bitch. He looked nice too, he knew. He'd bought a brand new suit for the occasion, just the sort of gayass thing Kyle would wear. His hair was slicked back in a neat weave, rather than his usual Shockwaves look.

They left the lift at the third floor and walked along a corridor. It was light and airy, and there were even a few potted ferns along the way. A few doctors and nurses passed them, obviously on their rounds, and a couple of security guards sat at a station nearby, drinking coffee. Cartman had suspected there would be guards. This was a nuthouse, after all.

They stopped outside a door near the guards station. On the door was the patient number (32b), and a clear plastic folder taped to the door with sheets of paper inside. There were all sorts of long words that Cartman didn't understand on the top sheet, along with two words stamped in big, red letters: HIGH RISK.

"He is restrained," the receptionist said, noticing Cartman reading the sheet, "but there is a panic button on the wall if you need it."

Cartman could hear patient 32b singing a song to himself: "Loo loo loo, I'll have some apples, loo loo loo, you have some too…"

"Thanks, I'll take it from here," Cartman said to the receptionist. She nodded and left.

He put his hand on the knob and eased the heavy door open gently. He stepped inside and gazed at the boy sitting cross-legged on the bed, singing to himself and doing a jigsaw. He was restrained, as the receptionist had said, by a couple of leather bonds around his wrists that were connected to the wall. He looked up, smiling, as the door clicked shut, then his mouth fell open in alarm.

"Hello, Butters."

Butters leapt off the bed, scattering his jigsaw, and tried to run for the panic button, but his restraints pinged and pulled him back against the bed. Cartman moved quickly across the room and hauled him up. He pushed the struggling Butters down onto the bed with one hand, and produced a switchblade from his pocket with the other. He put the blade to Butters' throat.

"Listen to me," he hissed menacingly. "In a second, I'm going to let you go. And when I do, you're not going to scream or do anything to attract the guards' attention. Try anything, and I'll do you right now, got it?"

Butters nodded with difficulty.

"Good." Cartman released him and he sat up shaking, and hugged his knees. "You know why I'm here, don't you, B? You and me have got some unfinished business."

"I'm real sorry, Eric," Butters babbled. "I tried to stop him but he got too strong and he took control and he hurt me because I wouldn't hurt you because…" his voice trailed off. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

"Oh yeah, Chaos," Cartman said grimly. "Is he in there? I wanna talk to that asshole."

"Well, yeah, but I'm trying to learn to block him out," Butters said. "It's all part of my re-ha-bi-li-ta-tion." Butters had always had trouble with words of more than two syllables.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Cartman said casually. He advanced on Butters again. "I only came here for one reason."

"No, Eric, please don't do this," Butters whimpered as Cartman pushed him down onto the bed again and brandished the switchblade. Cartman leant down over him, his stomach pushing heavily into Butters' chest.

"Bet you like this, dontcha, bitch," he whispered, his breath hot on Butters' cheek. He pressed the blade against the boy's abdomen. Butters' body suddenly seemed to relax beneath his.

"Believe me, Eric, you don't want to do this," he said, calmly and quietly. "You'll be paying for it for the rest of your life."

Cartman pulled away slightly. He watched Butters carefully. "Professor Chaos?"

"Nah, still me," Butters replied. "I think the Vicodin's kicking in." He sat up a little, being careful to avoid the blade. "I know what its like to hate someone so much you wish they were dead, but it's not worth it. Really, its not. Hate twists you and turns you into something you're not. Hate destroyed me. Don't let it destroy you too." He gazed up at Cartman. There was indecision behind his dark eyes. Butters took a deep breath and put his hand on Cartman's. "I'm not worth throwing your life away over." He gently pushed Cartman's hand, and the blade, away.

Cartman stood still for a moment, unsure about what had just happened. He felt the anger that he had nurtured inside him for weeks begin to drain away. He sank down into a beanbag seat beside the bed. His chest began to throb angrily, reminding him he hadn't had his painkillers.

"Damn, that's some good Vicodin," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Butters said. He stared off into chemically enhanced space.

Cartman took in Butters' room for the first time. Lots of blues and greens. Gay, hippie earth colours that were probably supposed to be calming. He breathed deeply and tried not to contemplate how close he'd come to actually murdering someone.

"Thanks for not pressing charges," Butters said suddenly.

"It was all part of the plan, B."

"Huh?"

"I wanted to dispense my own brand of justice. I knew I couldn't get to you if you were inside." Cartman grinned. "You should've seen me: 'Don't put him away, he needs help, not prison'. Those detectives were such assholes."

"Juvie wouldn't have me anyway. Too crazy for juvie." Butters giggled. "And they've got Trent Boyette."

The two boys fell silent for a while. The tension between them had all but evaporated.

"How long have you been a fag?" Cartman asked matter-of-factly.

"Well, all my life, I guess," Butters said. "But officially, two years."

"How'd you find out?"

"Do you remember the last time we went to Raisins, all of us together? No? Well, it was to celebrate Tweek finally going through puberty. We had a super fun time that day." Butters smiled at the memory. "Nothing happened there, it was afterwards, when I was at home, in bed. I was dreaming about the Raisins girls dancing for us, and then suddenly they changed into boys! There was Craig, and Clyde and – "he paused, glancing at Cartman, "other people. All dressed up like Raisins girls and dancing for me. I woke up and found…things had happened. With my penis. That's when I realised I was gay."

"You're a sicko, dude."

Cartman stayed with Butters for another hour, and then announced he had to go, or he'd miss his bus home. Butters looked disappointed.

"Come see me again soon?"

"Maybe."

Cartman stood up. "It was true, what I told you in the wood," he said. "I don't hate you, B. I never did." He started towards the door, then turned around as though he'd forgotten something. "Can you give Professor Chaos a message from me?"

"Sure. What is it?"

Cartman walked back to the bed and punched him hard on the nose. Butters pinched it, trying to stem the blood.

"I'll make sure he gets it."

*

That night, Butters lay in the dark, listening to the silence. It wasn't just silent outside, but inside his head, too. Professor Chaos' constant chatter and threats had stopped. He lay still, savouring it. He finally felt at peace with the world, and himself. The visit from Cartman had a lot to do with that, he knew. It seemed to have helped Cartman as well. Maybe they had both found…what was the word? Closure.

He closed his eyes and turned over as far as his restraints would allow. He sighed happily.

Alone at last.

**Well, that's it, the end of the story.**** As always, thanks for reading! **

**The ending is a bit sappy, I know, but I couldn't have Cartman killing Butters. It didn't feel right.**** Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you could review it, that would be great.**

**Ta-ra for now!**


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